Max. More of this sport, and I am made, old Mother:
Effect but this thou hast begun.
Dio. I am he, Lady,
Reveng'd your Brothers death; slew cruel Aper;
I am he the Souldier courts, the Empire honours,
Your Brother loves; am he (my lovely Mistriss)
Will make you Empress of the World.
Max. Still excellent;
Now I see too, mine Uncle may be cozen'd:
An Emperour may suffer like another.
Well said, old Mother, hold up this miracle.
Aur. Thou lyest, thou art not he: thou a brave fellow?
Char. Is there no shame, no modesty in women?
Aur. Thou one of high and full mark?
Dio. Gods! what ails she?
Aur. Generous and noble? Fie, thou liest most basely.
Thy face, and all aspects upon thee, tell me
Thou art a poor Dalmatian Slave, a low thing,
Not worth the name of Roman; stand off farther.
Dio. What may this mean?
Aur. Come hither, my Endymion;
Come, shew thy self, and all eyes be blessed in thee.